


Family is More Than Blood

by Cherry101



Series: Fluffverse [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Christmas fic, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Illnesses, M/M, Married OtaYuri, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, beka has the flu, but not really, otabek's friends - Freeform, they have a kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 08:12:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13209600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherry101/pseuds/Cherry101
Summary: Married and living in Almaty, Otabek and Yuri are years into their marriage and have adopted a kid. Everything's great, until Otabek gets the flu. Out of options, Yuri takes Karina to Otabek's friends so she doesn't get sick as well.OR the "my husband's sick and I don't want my kid to get sick please take care of my kid" fic nobody asked for. Featuring the ocs of Otabek's friends introduced in And These Promises I'll Keep





	Family is More Than Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesameoldfairytale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesameoldfairytale/gifts).



> Merry (late) Christmas guys! This is a Christmas fic for thesameoldfairytale, because she deserves a break from my angst for this fluffy humorous fic. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *this is loosely related to And These Promises I'll Keep, and is in the same universe, but no knowledge of that is really required.

It’s two in the morning, and Inzhu had been expecting a peaceful sleep - she’s home from London, for the first time since July, and she seriously had been looking forward to just cuddling with her husband - not a frantic knocking at her door. 

 

Groaning, she rolls from her bed. Ruslan’s still fast asleep - he’s always been a deep sleeper - and she runs fingers through her hair, attempting to make herself look somewhat presentable. Although, she supposes, it’s two in the morning. She has an excuse to look messy like she just rolled out of bed, because she  _ did.  _

 

Inzhu stumbles out of the bedroom, still dragging fingers through her hair, and she reaches the door. Another knock sounds, and she winces. Jeez, the loud noise hurt. Her sleep-addled brain couldn’t handle much of noise, not at this time at night. 

 

_ I swear, if Dima's here to prank me, or Aiman is popping by randomly to see her brother, I’m going to murder them,  _ she thinks to herself, rubbing her eyes. Neither one of the two had a good sense of time - Dima more so than Aiman, the girl was normally pretty good about not offending people - and the possibility of one of them showing up at her and Ruslan’s house in the middle of the night is probable. And if not one of them… who else would it be?

 

The answer comes in the form of blonde hair. 

 

Inzhu opens the door, and blinks in surprise, because it’s… Yuri freaking Altin-Plisetsky, standing on her doorstep holding a sleeping child. 

 

“... Yuri, I love you, but why the absolute  _ fuck _ are you at my house at two in the morning.” 

 

Yuri coughs, a raspy cough followed by an even raspier intake of breath, “I’m... I’m sorry to bother you, Inzhu, but you’re the only one I trust with my child and I need your help.” 

 

Inzhu crosses her arms. Yuri isn’t one to apologize for anything, so whatever it is he needs help with, she’ll listen… no guarantee she’ll do much more than that, but it’s a start, right? 

 

“Well, shoot. I’m listening.” 

 

Exhausted green eyes meet her own, and she notices then the dark bags under his eyes.  _ He looks awful,  _ she thinks. 

 

“It’s just that -  _ fuck -  _ Beka’s at home with the flu, and I can’t take care of him and Karishka at the same time. I don’t want her to get sick, she’s only two,” Yuri explains, shifting little Karina to his other arm. 

 

“So you want me to take care of her.” Inzhu finishes, “I’m honored you chose me over, I don’t know, Otabek’s family, who all live here in Almaty as well.” So maybe she may sound a little bitter, and it’s not like that! She loves Karina, really, she does. She had dubbed herself “the best aunt” when the toddler had been adopted, a year ago. But again, it’s two in the morning, and this is also her winter break. University is stressful - a necessary evil - and she… she had planned on  _ enjoying  _ herself. She had planned on spending some time with her husband, because she missed him. And her sister in law, because no matter how grumpy Aiman seems, she’s a pretty neat person to hang with. And Dima, because he too was in school and they could trade stories! And yeah, she missed Otabek and Yuri too, but between their respective careers and split-second decision to adopt… 

 

She didn’t want to be a bother. Obviously. 

 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Yuri hisses, but the angered expression on his face melts almost immediately, “Sorry, I’m…  _ dammit,  _ I need sleep. I’m sorry for snapping. It’s just… Ayna has her own kids to worry about, and no offense to Farida, but I trust you more than her. I’m sorry it’s so early, but I don’t want to risk Karina getting sick.” 

 

And that’s three more apologies. Wow, he really must be tired.

 

Inzhu sighs, “Alright, alright. You owe me big time though, Plisetsky.” 

 

“Altin-Plisetsky.” 

 

“Whatever.” Gently, she opens her arms, allowing Yuri to carefully place Karina into them. The still sleeping toddler releases a sleepy whine. Cute. 

 

“She’s been up pretty late, so she should sleep for awhile. I’ll bring over some supplies - I doubt you have anything, no offense. She’s good with most foods, and she isn’t picky or anything. She’ll eat small doses at every meal, but this means she’ll get hungry more often. She’s not very talkative, so you’ll have to pay attention to her-” Yuri rambles, one hand running through his hair while the other gently strokes Karina’s dark brown curls. 

 

Inzhu interrupts, “It’s okay, honestly. I’ve taken care of children before. Now shoo shoo, get some sleep. You look like you need it.” 

 

“I, ah… yeah, you’re right. I’ll be back in the morning, I promise.” Yuri’s voice still retains that exhausted raspiness, and his entire body slumps - he looks so positively exhausted, Inzhu almost pities him. 

 

“I got it. Go. Before you get so tired you pass out in the car. I don’t want Beks to blame me for your death Yuri.” 

 

He chuckles, then turns and walks back to his car, leaving her alone with a toddler. 

 

For a second, Inzhu just stood their in the doorway, looking at the sleeping Karina. 

 

“...I suppose I should get you in an actual bed?” She shifts Karina to her other arm, “It’s a good thing we have a guest bedroom with a twin bed. I’d sleep with you, but Ruslan might not be so happy about that.” 

 

She pauses. 

 

“...I’m so tired I’m talking to a sleeping toddler.”

 

The guest bedroom happens to be right off the main hallway, right after the door, so she carefully places little Karina down in a bed. It’s tall enough that she won’t be walking out of it, but low enough that should she fall, it wouldn’t hurt. 

 

Maybe Inzhu’s too tired to think straight, because if she really were awake she would know she probably shouldn’t leave Karina alone. However, she isn’t thinking straight - the only thing she really wants to do is go back to sleep, like she sent Yuri home to do. 

 

“Goodnight Karinka. We’ll hang out more in the morning.” With that, she shuts the door softly, as so not to wake the girl, and tiredly makes the walk back to her own bedroom. 

 

Ruslan’s still fast asleep when she crawls back into their bed. Fast asleep, but as soon as her head hits the pillow, his arm curls around her, almost protectively. She smiles at the gesture, even as her eyes fall close. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Inzhu.”

 

Inzhu groans, the light hitting her eyelids waking her up as quickly as the painfully stern voice. 

 

“ _ Inzhu.”  _

 

She opens her eyes, blinking fervidly. The sun is blinding - even in the middle of December - and it  _ hurts.  _ For a minute, she misses Manchester’s rains, because then at least she isn’t  _ blinded  _ by the freaking sun. 

 

Ruslan is standing over her, she realizes, as she blinks the light out of her eyes enough to be able to see clearly. Her husband kind of looks pissed, and he’s holding…

 

... _ fuck.  _

 

“Honey. Love of my life. My beautiful, beautiful wife.  _ Why _ in Allah’s  _ good name _ do we have a baby in our house?” Ruslan questions, holding little Karina close to him. She’s awake - she really does look like Yuri and Otabek’s child, with dark brown hair falling in small curls and bright green eyes - but she’s quiet, looking over at her with curious eyes. 

 

“I, uh,” Inzhu clears her throat, sitting up in bed while rubbing her eyes, “That’s Karina.” 

 

“I know that this is Karina. I see her enough on Instagram.” Ruslan’s tone is calm, which is dangerous. He’s a loud person, always excited, so hearing him so collected…

 

“See… Yuri dropped her off late last night. Otabek’s sick, he didn’t want her to get sick too. He asked me to watch her, and what was I supposed to say to that?” 

 

“Um, that we’re not prepared to take care of a child?”

 

“You… You didn’t see him, though. Lanya, he was so exhausted. He apologized to me four times. Four! He had bags under his eyes, the poor thing. He needed sleep. He said he’ll be here later to drop off stuff.” 

 

Ruslan sighs, almost dramatically, “I’m… I’m not going to convince you otherwise, am I.” 

 

“No. No, you’re not. Yuri trusts us to take care of their daughter while Beks is sick, I am prepared to keep his trust by doing so.” Now, Inzhu’s fully awake, still seated on the bed. 

 

“Well, here. I’m going to text Yuri. I need to pick up something from the store anyways, might as well relieve him from driving over. We should’ve been prepared to babysit Karina at some time anyways.” Ruslan rubs his temples, then practically shoves the toddler into Inzhu’s arms, “She’s going to be hungry soon, I bet.” 

 

“Because you know  _ so  _ much about babies.” Inzhu deadpans, but she rocks Karina softly, cooing at her. 

 

Unbeknownst to her, Ruslan smiles fondly, “I’ll be off.” 

 

And he leaves the two of them alone. 

 

If Karina is hungry, or upset, or anything, she doesn’t look it. She presses her fingers against her mouth, seemingly content to just… sit there. 

 

How strange. 

 

When Inzhu’s younger sister, Aliya, was two, the girl had been a mess. Constantly screaming, throwing fits and tantrums… All kids are different and everything, but Karina is just so  _ quiet.  _

 

Inzhu doesn’t know how long she sits there, balancing the toddler in her arms sleepily, before Karina glances up at her, green eyes wide, “Play?” 

 

It’s the first word she’s said all day. Hell, at this point, Inzhu was well on her way to thinking that the kid was mute or something. Nope, just super,  _ super  _ quiet. 

 

“You wanna play?” When Karina nods, Inzhu stands up, juggling the girl in her arms in an attempt to keep her sated while she searches the house for something a toddler could play with. 

 

There’s not much in the house - Ruslan’s surprisingly neat and she hasn’t been home in months - but Inzhu knows she probably retained at least  _ some  _ of her old toys. What can she say? She’s a hoarder. 

 

“Where are your toys, Rinya, Rinishka?” She babbles as she searches, “You gotta have some toys somewhere, Karya, Karinka.” 

 

She’s cautiously digging through a closet when bingo! A bag of old toys! Toys probably appropriate for a toddler, hopefully, maybe? 

 

“Look what I found, Karina!” Inzhu shifts Karina to her right arm in order to reach upwards with her left and gently pulling the bag out. 

 

It’s a worn tote bag, fraying at the seams. The Kazakh sun, faded from years of use, winks at them from the side of the bag, surrounded by a nearly white blue. It was probably one of those tourist bags that her father owned before he made the move to Kazakhstan, chasing her mother persistently. 

 

She swallows, forcing the memories down with the motion. No time to dwell on the past! Even if the only good things her father ever gave her were her baby blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. She looked foreign - still looks foreign - and was teased for it all because her father happened to be American. 

 

Fuck him. She doesn’t need a father figure in her life  _ anyways.  _

 

“Play?” 

 

The word, high-pitched in a child’s tone, snaps her out of her thoughts, and she glances down. Karina’s staring up at her, still looking merely curious and not fussy or anything. She… She didn’t seem to protest the fact that her parents weren’t here, accepting Inzhu easily. 

 

_ I do hope nobody tries to steal her or anything. She wouldn’t even scream,  _ Inzhu finds herself thinking darkly. Not that she thought anybody would steal a child. Not in Almaty. 

 

“Yep! Let’s play!” Inzhu balances both the bag and the baby precariously as she wanders into the living room. It’s plain, with white cushioned couches, white walls, a white table. Far too much white. It needs more color. Maybe pillows? A blanket too, one that matches the pillows. Maybe a paint-splattered pattern… surely Ruslan wouldn’t mind? 

 

_ And that’s the artist coming out of me,  _ she thinks dryly, setting Karina down on the hardwood floors. It’s a pretty nice house, anyways. Not too cramped, very modern. New, probably. She didn’t know. The house had been a surprise to her - apparently, Otabek helped with the cost, something which she was a little ticked off but not really surprised, Beks loves helping people and she knows he still feels guilty for abandoning them for Yuri - and while she loves it, it does need some… touches. 

 

Maybe she can talk with Ruslan about that later? 

 

Inzhu sighs, shaking her head softly. Stupid thoughts. 

 

Karina sits on the floor, her hair nearly touching her shoulders as she glances around her with a soft look on her face. Her lips are scrunched up, her eyes almost guarded with hints of curiosity, and maybe that’s what Yuri meant when he told her to pay attention to the girl. Somehow, the toddler looks weary, distrustful of her surroundings. 

 

“This isn’t your home, is it? Noooo, I bet your home is much fancier than this,” Inzhu babbles, setting the bag of toys down on the ground as well and rummaging through them. There’s a couple of old dolls - Karina would like dolls, right? - some blocks, a couple of scattered legos,  a couple of toy cars, and one small stuffed cat that makes her heart ache at the sight. Once, many many years ago, this stuffed cat belonged to her. Then, when she outgrew it, it was passed down to Aliya. 

 

“Your home has a fancy built in ballet studio slash recording studio for your dads, and I bet they went as far as to change one of their many guest bedrooms into a playroom for you, little Kishka. Lots of room to play!” She scatters the toys around the disgruntled toddler, noticing the way her nose scrunches up even as her eyes sparkle at the sight of the playthings. 

 

_ She’s going to be very hungry soon. I should make something to eat.  _

 

Still… It’s cool to just watch Karina play. Karina mostly talks to herself, babbling in a mixture of Kazakh and Russian and Baby as she concentrates on her little game. Her focus never wavers - admirable for such a young child - and Inzhu’s instantly reminded of Otabek. Her Beks, who she’s known since grade school, who had been the only one to stand up for her when she was bullied for her foreign appearance. Otabek, who had always been quiet - an observer, not a participant - and focused, with the attention span of a fucking elephant. 

 

Otabek, who nobody knew anything about other than he skated competitively for a career and had two sisters. 

 

Otabek, who almost instantly opened up to a foreign stranger from Russia. 

 

Not that Inzhu’s bitter or anything. She  _ likes _ Yuri. His fashion style is absolutely amazing - both her and Dima agree - he was beautiful(is beautiful?), and, despite his harsh words, he has a heart of gold and he cares. He’s an amazing friend, really. She’s just… confused, perhaps?

 

Whatever. None of that matters. What does matter is that Inzhu really needs to feed the child of two of her closest friends while one recovers from his illness and the other recovers from his blatant lack of sleep. Yeah. 

 

Luckily, they have a pretty open floor concept, so the kitchen hangs right off the living room with merely an island separating the two rooms. Spacious, plus she can watch the toddler as she cooks. Win win. 

 

She’s twisting dough into balls - cooking has never been her strong suit, and the only thing she really knows how to cook is  _ baursak  _ \- when the door opens, slamming against the wall. 

 

“Was the door slam necessary?” Inzhu calls behind her, not looking. 

 

“Not my idea.” Ruslan calls back, although the raised voice is just as necessary as the door slamming. She doesn’t see him approach, but she can hear the thump of a bag hitting the counter, and then the press of warm lips against her cheek. 

 

“Then whose was it? Allah’s?” She teases, giving him a humorous sideways glance. 

 

Ruslan grins sheepishly, running a hand through his dark hair, “I… may have brought a guest. Or two.” 

 

“ _ Lanya.”  _

 

From the living room, Karina gives an excited squeal, “Dima!” 

 

Inzhu immediately looks over to her, and sure enough, Dima’s scooping Karina into his arms, spinning around with the child, “Little Karinka! How I’ve missed you!” Light brown hair, long enough to be tied back in a braid, whips around him as he twirls. 

 

_ Why does she know his name and not mine?  _ Inzhu thinks, pouting slightly. 

 

While it isn’t that surprising to see Dima intrude into their house, it is surprising to see everybody  _ else  _ in their friend group. 

 

Aiman, who has her own copy of their house key and stopped by frequently, has already plopped down on the couch, tugging a hairband out of her brown hair. 

 

Bolat and Kamila - married and both very antisocial - are leaning against the wall, talking in hushed tones. Inzhu hasn’t seen much of them recently. Kamila’s a bit of an outsider, and she doesn’t like people much. Besides, Bolat hadn’t been a part of their original group - he was, first and foremost, a skater, one of Otabek’s rinkmates. He’s closer to Otabek than he is the rest of them, Kamila too. 

 

Finally, Azat lounges in the loveseat, acting as though he’s visited a thousand times. Probably the most wild of their group, he rarely stopped for social visits - more likely to beg for money than anybody. 

 

Inzhu turns back to her husband, “...One or two?” 

 

“Okay, maybe more than that.” Ruslan still looks sheepish, “I ran into Dima at the store - he freaked out thinking you were pregnant with all the baby things I was buying, so I had to tell him that we were taking care of Karina-” 

 

“-And he told literally everybody else,” Inzhu finishes, sighing, “If I knew we would have visitors, I would’ve made more dough. Get Azat into the kitchen, we need some real food.” 

 

Her husband winks at her, giving her a little wag of his hips and a salute, “Yes ma’am.” 

 

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her dough. Most of it is rolled up in little balls by now, and one of her two fryers is bubbling with oil - ready to be used. Good. 

 

She places a couple of the doughballs into the scoop, lowering it into the fryer and smiling as the oil sizzled appreciatively. She’s no cook, but there’s some satisfaction in the sound of the fryer. 

 

“ _ Baursak _ ? Really?” Azat teases, and Inzhu jumps. She hadn’t realized he was there, which, in hindsight, is stupid because she asked for him. Whatever. 

 

“It’s the only thing I know how to make, all right?” 

 

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

 

“Um, I didn’t ask for this  _ judgement.”  _

 

“Well, too bad.” Azat sticks his tongue out playfully before promptly  _ raiding her fridge.  _

 

“Um, what are you doing?” 

 

“Ruslan told me you wished for my glorious presence in the kitchen. I only assumed you wanted my culinary skills.” 

 

“I didn’t mean for you to just help yourself!” 

 

Azat fixes her a stare, “Do you have any other plans?” His voice comes out in a deadpan. 

 

Inzhu sighs. Loudly. “Whatever. I’m tired. Go ahead, raid all you want. Just… just leave me and my  _ baursak _ alone.” 

 

“If you insist.” The man turns back to the fridge, and she turns back to her fried goods. The smell of the batter frying has already started filling the air - it’s oddly satisfying, to be honest. 

 

“Is there any baursak already made? This little one is hungry!” Dima saunters into the kitchen, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, with Karina in tow. The toddler is making a face, and she almost looks miserable. 

 

Luckily - very luckily - the first batch is just about finished, and Inzhu pulls them out of the fryer, gently laying the fried balls inside a bowl to cool, “I have some finished, but they’re very hot right now.” 

 

Dima just nods, cooing at Karina in Russian. If Inzhu listened closely, she could probably understand the words - she knows Russian, how else would she have befriended Yuri? - but she’s… not really that concerned with whatever her idiot friend is saying to the kid. It’s probably nonsense, anyways. 

 

“So, Dima… what happened to not growing out your hair?” She asks teasingly, after minutes of silence. 

 

He gives a half-hearted shrug - or, as good of a shrug as he can give, with a kid in his arms - “I said I wouldn’t grow out my hair for you years ago, Inzhu. Now that I’m older, I’m realizing the appeal of having long hair.”

 

“...You’re jealous of Yuri’s hair.” 

 

“I’m so jealous of Yuri’s hair how does he have such nice hair Inzhu?” 

 

She laughs, “Don't ask me! I've been begging for his secrets for years, he refused to tell me anything.”

 

Dima pouts. Carefully balancing Karina, who begins to lightly whimper in hunger, he picks up one of the finished baursak, popping it into his mouth, “I'll never understand how you can make this so well and then not be able to make anything else.”

 

Inzhu just shrugs, “I'm no cook, obviously. Baursak is easy. Besides, mine's not as good as Otabek’s mom’s is.” 

 

“Ah, Zhenya.” Dima’s expression grows mockingly wistful, “Her food is so good. Alas, her personality can use a touch up.” 

 

She shakes her head, mostly in humor.

 

“Well, these are pretty cool now, so I'm gonna give Karinka some. This little mama is hungry!” Dima scoops up more of the little balls of dough, offering one to Karina. 

 

“We have a table you know!” 

 

He sticks his tongue out, even as he saunters away rocking an apparently ravenous Karina. Of course she's hungry - she hasn't eaten anything since whenever Yuri fed her last. 

 

Inside the living room, Bolat and Kamila still talk in hushed tones. Inzhu doesn't get it. Her old vendetta against Kamila - nothing more than a surge of unwarranted jealousy - is pretty much gone. She doesn't feel like strangling the girl for being so attractive anymore, although the feeling isn’t entirely unwarranted. Kamila’s fairly attractive - with her dark brown hair cut to her shoulders and curled outwards and dark brown eyes - but she’s always been Bolat’s one and only. They are ice dance partners, after all. 

 

Rivalries aside, Inzhu still approaches them curiously, “Is there a reason you guys decided to tag along?” She asks, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face.  

 

The couple exchange a sideway glance, “I just wanted to meet Karina, really.” Bolat explains, “Bek’s always bragging about her to us - Yuri too, when he stops by the rink for his choreo job.”

 

“She’s adorable.” Kamila glances at Bolat again, her expression unreadable, “Such a cute kid.” She sounds longing, and Inzhu barely manages to suppress a snort. Kamila wants kids. Of course she does - doesn’t every couple want kids at some point in their lives? 

 

Well, she doesn’t. Not now. Not while she’s in Manchester in Uni and Ruslan’s here, taking over his dad’s auto repair and mechanic store. She’s not ready for kids. 

 

“I think Karina needs some water.” Dima announces, managing to walk back into the living room with the toddler in tow. He doesn’t seem to notice it, but she looks uncomfortable - almost put out. 

 

“I think she wants down. Come on, let her play, Dima.” Inzhu says, sitting down on the floor. She almost feels like a stranger in her own house, but that’s okay. 

 

Dima pouts, but he gently lowers her onto the ground, allowing the girl to pat the floors and glance around for her toys. 

 

“Do you know when Yuri’s supposed to be here?”

 

Inzhu startles, whipping her head around to glare at her husband. Ruslan’s standing above her, an amused expression on his face. 

 

“You  _ bastard _ , don’t scare me like that.” She hisses, but stands up anyways, “He didn’t say when he’d be here, just that he’s coming to drop off his stuff, hopefully after getting more sleep.” 

 

“Well, what should we do in the meantime? Azat’s still cooking in the kitchen, Bolat and Kamila wanted to see Karina, I have no clue why my sister is here or what she wants, and Dima’s just being Dima.”

 

Inzhu thinks about it. What should they do?

 

She grins. 

 

“I have an idea.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The first thing Yuri hears when he approaches the house is excited laughter. 

 

 _That’s_ _strange_ , he thinks, standing in front of the door with his fist raised, ready to knock. His left hand pauses, while his right balances a diaper bag precariously. 

 

If he’s being completely and totally honest, he doesn’t remember asking Inzhu to watch Karina at all. Otabek had fallen ill that night, coughing and sweating with a fever Yuri had desperately attempted to lower. Poor Karina had fallen asleep immediately, but Yuri stayed up taking care of his husband. He finally got the fever down, and Otabek had fallen asleep, and then… 

 

Well, apparently, he had driven Karina over to Inzhu and Ruslan’s house, leaving her with the newly returned hairdresser, and somehow got back to his own place before crashing. Hard. 

 

He’s still exhausted, obviously, but not as much as last night. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s been so fucking  _ tired _ . 

 

Still. 

 

Yuri knocks at the door. The laughing coming from inside pauses for a moment, before a loud voice excitedly exclaims, “Yuri’s here!” 

 

He winces. That’s not Inzhu. 

 

Sure enough, when the door opens, it’s not Inzhu but Bolat. Yuri blinks. He and Bolat had never spoken much, although the poor man had been the witness to every Skype call between Otabek and Yuri during rink hours. Him and Kamila both. 

 

Bolat offers a smile, “Hey Yuri. You’re just in time!”

 

“...Do I really want to know what I’m in time for?”

 

He just laughs, taking Yuri’s hand and dragging him into the house. 

 

Inside the living room, his beautiful little angel sits on the floor, gazing at the adults with an expression that practically oozes confusion. There’s a bowl of something - Yuri doesn’t even want to think about what’s in it - on the coffee table. 

 

“Karinka!” Dima coos, making a purposefully silly face at her. Karina doesn’t respond, just blinks those deep green eyes at the man. 

 

“Ha!” Ruslan laughs, spooning out some of the… gunk that’s in the bowl, “Eat up!”

 

Dima makes a disgusted face, but he accepts the spoon and slips it into his mouth. “Ick.” 

 

“My turn!” Azat reaches down, lightly tickling Karina’s stomach. The toddler makes a pained expression, and he immediately draws back his hand, “Well, that didn’t work. I’ll accept my defeat.” He too takes a bite of the gunk. 

 

Yuri blinks. Again. “...What are you idiots up to?”

 

Six heads turn in his direction. 

 

“Ah, Yuri! Good to see you looking a bit more alive!”

 

“Hey Yuri! Heard Bek is sick, hope he feels better!”

 

“Sup, loser.” 

 

“Hello Yuri.”

 

“Ah, Yuri, my man! Didja bring any of your pirozhkis?”

 

“Papa!”

 

It’s the last comment that draws him closer, and he scoops up his daughter, pecking her cheeks lightly, “Why hello there, little Karishka. Did you miss me?” He can’t help the softened tones of his voice - his child really had mellowed him out. Huh. 

 

Karina tugs at his hair. She’s two, not a baby, although people are very easily confused by her antisocial nature. Not that Yuri gives a flying fuck, he’s perfectly fine with a calm, nonverbal daughter. 

 

He looks up, “So, what were you all up to? Inzhu, darling, when I asked you to watch my daughter, this wasn’t what I had in mind.” 

 

“I don’t think you had anything in mind. I’d be surprised if you had a single coherent thought last night.” Inzhu counters, crossing her arms, “We wanted to get to know Karina, so we decided to see who could get her to laugh.”

 

“And why is everybody over in the first place?” 

 

“You can blame Ruslan and Dima for that.”

 

Ruslan almost looks sheepish when Yuri turns to level his stare on him, while Dima just laughs unapologetically, “Sorry, Yuri. We really were taking care of her though.”

 

“Good.” Yuri sighs, and he gently sets Karina down, “I’ll be back in a couple of days, depending on when Otabek gets better. Text me. A lot. I’ll leave this with you,” He sets the diaper bag down on the couch, “Now I better take my leave. I left Beka at home and god only knows what will happen in the fifteen minutes I’m supposed to be gone.”

 

“Yes. Go, Yura,” And Inzhu’s ushering him out, blonde-highlighted brown hair falling into her face, “And tell Beks we all said hi!”

 

Yuri opens his mouth to answer, but then the door slams shut in his face. 

 

He sighs. 

 

_ I’ll be back in less than a week.  _

 

He hopes his angel will survive that long with Otabek’s crazy friends. 

 

~BONUS~

 

“Rinya, Rinya!”

 

Karina sighs, turning her head away from her copy of Anna Karenina and towards the over-excited four year old, “Yes, Mara?”

 

Amara grins. Her hair - a light brown - is curled in a ponytail, accenting her childish face. She holds up a pale blue book. 

 

“I found a picture book! It has your name in it!”

 

Karina raises an eyebrow. She wouldn’t be surprised if she really is inside the “picture book” - this is Inzhu’s house, and she loves taking pictures. Already, Amara’s showing a similar interest. Like mother like daughter, they say. 

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

Amara nods excitedly. She flips through the book, revealing picture after picture of her parents, before settling on a page, “Look, see! It says Karina!” 

 

Karina glances at the page, and, sure enough, her own name is written in Inzhu’s flowery handwriting. 

 

In the photo, there’s a toddler -  _ that must be me _ \- sitting on Dima's lap. Inzhu’s curled next to Dima, smiling, with Ruslan next to her. On Dima’s other side, Bolat and Kamila sit with clasped hands, both smiling. Azat is standing behind them, grinning wickedly. Aiman’s not in the picture, which means she must be the one taking it. 

 

Smiling amusedly, Karina glances down at the caption written below her name. 

 

_ First friend gathering! To all the memories yet to come.  _

 

_ We all love you, Karina.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
